The only thing more irritating than naming this product “festive” and “deluxe” in one breath is calling the related dessert a pie. It’s not a pie. It conforms to none of the typologies of what a pie is or can be. It’s just a bubbling tube of custard; a deep-fried blister.
But I digress. This 800 calorie constipatory aid, this beef behemoth, this 50%-of-your-salt-RDA meat frisbee did induce 20 minutes of childish euphoria, only to be followed by a two hour MSG comedown more depressing than a Littlewood’s stage adaptation of 8 Mile. I’d love to slam this sandwich with a low score, but despite everything it is and stands for, it’s still delicious in the filthiest possible way.